tiny pieces of glass

I.
we broke the wine glasses one by one.
they were too tall, stiletto heel aunts 
on the top shelf of the cabinet. they 
wore grape juice in their hair & drank 
the morning away. orange juice bellies,
sire-laughing: we tried to ignore them. orchid 
necks & their circling kisses. they traced us.
mom would try to catch them-- she could hear them
dropping from rooms away, running, she
would never make it in time. glass eye lashes
& jagged teeth. the wine glass's real face
a pile of knives-- a garden of incisions.
we wore shoes in the kitchen for weeks
& still found tiny pieces of glass. a game.
soft clink, i collected the slivers in 
the open face of an oyster shell in my room. 
they sang opaque songs & kept me awake. 

II.
the project of re-essembly began on 
the night when we broke the last one. she screamed
& we took paper towels the ground to remove
her body. each furious section. some parts were as thin
as my aunt. her finger nails stained blood purple. 
the smashed glass tried to sprout into roses but
i made sure to collect them, cutting myself
on the thorns. no that's cliche, you can do better.
i used the night light & began to join
the fragments together, no glue necessary. 
they desired a body so much. wiping the blood on my jeans.
there was only one enough for one glass 
& she cried so long. i filled her with water, drinking
by the counter to quiet her down. winced & found
a tiny piece of glass in my foot. i pulled it 
out with the tweezers in the bathroom. the sound
of the glass throwing herself to the floor, the cracking
of the house. more shards to find in the driveway.
more treasure. a front door in my heel,
someone running.